“Don’t think about it like that. Think about it the way she’d want you to: she was looking after you, Markus.”
“‘Don’t embarrass me with this shit,’” Mark said. “I said that to a woman I was more proud of than anyone I’ve ever known. ‘Don’t embarrass me.’”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing, Jeff. Let’s get back to the point of the call.”
What had the point been? Mark didn’t remember, didn’t care. He was glad when Jeff picked up the baton.
“Is anything about this confession, the hypnosis deal, going to help you?” Jeff said. “Because that’s why you’re there, right?”
I can’t be the only one who knows. If he wants to bring me to the place where he killed her and tell me how he did it, I’m willing to take that walk. But I need help.
“Right,” he said. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Well? Can this shit help you, or is it a dead end? You don’t have time for dead ends. The board meets day after tomorrow, and this time you’ll need to be here for it with whatever you have to offer.”
Mark turned the recorder over in his hand. “I’m getting close,” he said, and the drumming became a rattle as the rain turned to ice.
40
In all the time that he’d been working with her, Ridley Barnes had gone to see Julianne Grossman for every session. When her car pulled into his yard, tires skidding in the mix of rain and snow, he felt a black chill spread through his chest. He had carried his secrets to her. If they returned to his doorstep in a rush, he knew it was trouble.
“What’s happened?” he said, opening the door as she jogged through the dampness and up the porch steps.
“He watched it.”
Ridley stood stock-still, oblivious to the cold rain. “Novak? You played him the video?”
“Yes.”
“He came to you?” Ridley said. “Today?”
“Yes.”
“Was he alone, or was he with Blankenship?”
“He was alone.”
Ridley let her in and closed the door and found himself feeling vulnerable and exposed as she looked around his house. That was laughable, considering he had let her probe the blackest places of his unconscious mind, but he felt it all the same.
“Do you think he will be a help?”
“I do. It’s early to tell, of course. That’s why I came here—I wanted to let you know immediately, and in person. I didn’t want there to be any surprises.”
“And how did our friend Novak, the chosen one, react to my confession?”
“He seemed to believe it.”
“Well, he should. That’s not what I’m asking. Does he understand the importance of the cave?”
“He wants the same thing you do, though he’s not fully aware of it yet. He wants to return to Trapdoor. I’m almost certain.”
Ridley went to the woodstove and busied himself with stoking the fire just because he needed something to do, a place to direct the energy that was pulsing within him.
“He’s not what I’d hoped,” he said with his back to her. “He’s too rigid. I don’t think he understands the first thing about that place.”
“Earlier you thought that the cave might have shown more of herself to Novak than to others.”
Ridley watched the flames grow and then he added fresh wood and cupped his hands and soaked in the warmth as the fire crackled.
“Why are you here?” he said finally, still without turning.
“I was afraid he might be headed this way. I wanted to prepare you.”
“I can handle him just fine. He’s no different than any other detective.”
“He most certainly is. You sent for him, Ridley. You asked him in.”
“And you supported it. Suggested it, even.”
“I did, and I do now, but with much more caution. Much more. Because I see real risk. For the both of you.”
“What would you like me to do about that?”
“Challenge yourself,” she said.
He looked over his shoulder. “I’m not hurting for challenges.”
She nodded. “So you can bear another one, can’t you?”
He didn’t answer.
“You’re going to need to trust him first,” she said. “You’re going to need to be vulnerable with him, Ridley, in ways that you don’t like to be.”
He returned his attention to the fire. A blackened piece of ash went up in an orange glow and licked toward the front of the stove as if it had eyes on escape. He grabbed a rag to keep from burning his hand and pushed the stove door closed, sealing in the flames, then adjusted the damper so that the fire could exhale.
“I can keep my control around him,” he said. “That won’t be a problem.”
But he was thinking of Novak inside of Julianne’s house, invading that safe haven, and his hands opened and closed on the rag. She had suggested getting involved with Novak, and it made sense to recruit someone from the outside. Now he had his doubts. Even while she was exhorting him to show control, she was removing some of it from him.
“I’m simply telling you that he’ll need to be shown trust,” Julianne said. “If you can’t do that, then it may be better to send him away. If you still can.”
If you still can. There was an accusatory flavor to the statement, an indictment, and he wanted to whirl around and shout that it had been her idea in the first place. The tension that had been growing in him in recent days was reaching a high-water mark.
“I won’t need him if I can just get access to that cave,” he said.
“I know you’d like that. I also know that you have some fear related to that place.”
“That’s the wrong word.”
“It’s the word you use when you’re in a state of trance.”
Once again, he found himself disliking her. Trance had been an intriguing gambit once upon a time, and certainly they had reached interesting places and had fascinating conversations. Lately, though, he wondered if she believed she had more power over him than she truly did.
“Nothing will go wrong,” he said.
“Your subconscious disagrees. Your subconscious has disclosed, on multiple occasions, that you fear a return to Trapdoor will provoke a return to violence. That you may harm people.”
She said all of this flatly, as if reading information off his driver’s license. That was part of her approach with him, always had been—she listened to the discussion of violent deeds and the potential for worse and responded to them with detachment—but still, it unnerved him.
“I fear harming people?” he said, and he smiled in the firelight. “Well, that is troubling news, isn’t it?”
“It isn’t news to you. I came here because I wanted to tell you what had happened with Novak and tell you what I think.”
“Which is that I should trust him.”
“Yes.”
Ridley nodded, and the motion cast rippling shadows along the wall. “I’ve trusted you. With Novak, I am only willing to wait. He’s seen what he needs to see. There will be no further contact between you. Not until I’m convinced that he can, in fact, be trusted.”
“We’ve already agreed that—”
“What was agreed to has been done. What he does from here, we’ll just have to wait and see. He must come to me now. Not you. Only me.”
“That may be out of my control, Ridley. He could return. He could return with the police.”
“And you will send him away.” He turned from the stove to face her. “Is this understood?”
Her expression didn’t change. “I’ll send him away. Until you’re ready. And you will need to be ready.”
“I lack many things, Julianne. Readiness is not one of them.”
41
Mark drove to Trapdoor with air vents angled onto his face, blowing cold air into his eyes to help him stay alert. The road seemed to swim at times. Twice he looked at the GPS for guidance and realized that he’d never put in an address. He made the turns with confid
ence, though, as if the route were familiar.
The gate at the top of the drive was closed and locked. Mark left the car and walked down the slushy drive. The rain was beginning to mix with snow.
Cecil Buckner didn’t spot him this time, or if he did, he didn’t care to stop him. Mark made it all the way to the front door. When Danielle MacAlister opened it in response to his knock, her eyes went wide. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing’s the matter. I just need some help.”
“Well, get inside.”
Once he was inside, dripping water onto her hardwood floors, he realized that her concern wasn’t over his presence so much as his condition.
“I’m a little under the weather still,” he said.
“You look awful. Sit down.”
He sat on her leather sofa without removing his jacket. If there was a more comfortable couch in the world, he couldn’t imagine it. Lord, he was tired.
“Did Cecil let you in?” she said.
“I walked down.”
She didn’t seem pleased to hear that.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Coming in like this. But I need some help.”
She was looking at him with a mixture of sympathy and caution. “What can I do?”
“I need a copy of a map. One of the maps that Ridley drew.”
“Why?” She folded her arms over her breasts in a protective fashion, and Mark observed that she wasn’t wearing a bra and that she was in sweatpants and a T-shirt, and he wondered what time it was and why he didn’t know that.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“Do you need me to call someone, Mr. Novak? You don’t look well.”
“Just tired,” he said. “I’m on my way back to a hotel, but I needed to stop here first. I’d like to have a copy of one of those maps. I need to get a sense of where I was. At the time, in the dark, it was hard to get my bearings.”
“The maps won’t show where you were found.”
“But Ridley would know. Ridley could show me, because he’s the one who found me, and he’s the one who made the map.”
“I suppose.”
“I’ll just make a copy,” he said. “You can come with me, never let it out of your sight.”
“You can have the original for as long as you need it.”
He thought that she would have offered him just about anything as long as it ensured that he left her house in a hurry.
“I’ll find the maps,” she said. “Wait here, please?”
She went to a door that led to a staircase, but she passed through the kitchen first and picked up a knife with a long, shining blade. She was afraid of him. He wanted to tell her that wasn’t necessary. He meant no harm. He just needed to get a sense of Trapdoor. Down there alone in the dark, it hadn’t been possible. He’d get a sense of it, and he’d ask Ridley to show him, and he would watch Ridley. He wanted to watch Ridley with those maps, and maybe—maybe—he’d ask what Ridley would think of giving him a tour, of showing Mark exactly how he’d gotten lost.
Danielle closed the door behind her and he heard her footsteps on the stairs and then he leaned back against the plush leather couch to wait. When his head settled against the cushion, he closed his eyes despite himself. With a couch like this, a man would never need a bed. Speaking of which, he was going to need a bed. His lungs hurt and his throat was sore and his body ached. He listened for her footsteps on the stairs and hoped that they wouldn’t come too fast, that she wouldn’t hurry. He just needed a few minutes with his eyes closed. It had been a long day.
When he woke, the room was dark except for a soft lamp in the corner, and he had no idea where he was. He closed his eyes again, wanting to retreat, but then the reality of his situation intruded and he straightened up fast, hoping that he’d been asleep for a minute or two, no more.
From the corner opposite the lamp, Danielle MacAlister said, “I’ve been debating whether to call the police or a doctor. I’m really not sure. In the end, I just let you sleep.”
“You don’t need to call anyone.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes and felt radiant warmth from clammy skin. “I’m sorry. I’ll get out of here.”
“It’s past midnight, Mr. Novak.”
“You’re kidding.”
She shook her head. She was still wearing the sweats and had her auburn hair pulled back and tied loosely so that it fell over one shoulder, and the formidable, authoritative quality that she’d had before was gone and she looked very young. There was a tenderness in the way that she watched him that should have been sweet but instead was unsettling, because it had been a long time since anyone had looked at him that way.
“You’ve slept for a long time. It was obvious that you had a fever. You slept like a dead man until about an hour ago, and then your fever broke and you were covered in sweat. You started talking in your sleep a little. I think your dreams were awful until then. Then, when your fever broke, they changed.”
He swung his legs around and put his feet on the floor. The room seemed to keep swinging when his own motion was done.
“Sorry,” he said. “It’s been a long day. I pushed it when I shouldn’t have. You didn’t need to let me sleep, though.”
“You talked about your wife.”
Mark retied a boot lace that was already tied just to give him an excuse to look away from her. “Did I?”
“Yes. It was actually very…sweet. You talked to her as if she were here. I know that she’s not. I mean, obviously she’s not here—I’m saying that I know what happened to her.”
Mark looked up, and now she seemed flustered.
“I researched you, of course,” she said. “It seemed prudent, after you’d trespassed on our property. I had to see who I was dealing with, that’s all.”
“Sure,” Mark said. He wanted to know what he had said to Lauren in his sleep, what had been so sweet, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask. He rose unsteadily, each bruise taking the opportunity to announce its presence. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe I fell asleep here. This was embarrassing.”
“Where are you going now?”
“I’ll find a hotel.”
“It’s past midnight, it’s snowing again, and you’re ill. All things considered, I think you should stay here tonight. There’s a blanket and another pillow next to the couch. Just so you’re aware, I will be in the room at the far end of the hall. I keep the door locked, and I have a handgun, and I’m accurate with it.”
She spoke with a firmness that suggested she believed in her capabilities to protect herself, and no doubt she did. The young often believed in their own capabilities and their own safety. Too often.
“You won’t need any locks or guns,” Mark said.
“I’ll make that judgment, thank you.”
She left him then, and a few seconds later he heard the door close and the lock engage. He turned and looked out of the window behind him and saw nothing but blackness and a skein of ice on the glass. The wind came in shrieks and howls. He knew he should leave but the thought of that long walk through the snow and up the hill to his car seemed exhausting, and the motel where he’d paid for surveillance videos that morning held no more appeal. He took his boots off, stretched out on the couch, and didn’t even bother to look for the blanket or pillow she’d mentioned. He was asleep again almost immediately, and though she’d said he’d dreamed sweet things of his wife, all he was aware of dreaming of now was Ridley Barnes, Ridley sitting in a straight-backed chair with his eyelids fluttering, then Ridley with a smile like a deranged clown and endlessly dark eyes. I told you, he said, all you needed to do was spend some time down there. In the dark. Let’s go back. Let’s go back to where we both belong.
And Mark followed, because in the dream he had no other choice. He knew that it was the wrong path, the dangerous one, and yet he followed Ridley out of the light and into the darkness. He was cold immediately, and then his clothes were gone and he was crawling in the dark again, crawling once more in an endless room,
and though he was alone, he knew that Ridley was still with him, invisible but watching, always watching.
42
Mark woke before Danielle MacAlister. He rose from the couch and went into the kitchen, poured a glass of water, drank it gratefully, then chased it with another. In the pale light of dawn he could see that maybe two or three new inches of snow had fallen overnight. He’d slept deeply and he felt physically better and more mentally in control than he had when he’d arrived. That thought disturbed him more than it comforted him, though, as if his coming to Trapdoor hadn’t been his own idea.
If you can get Danielle MacAlister’s cooperation, Julianne had said, her unseen clock ticking loudly, and then Mark had driven to Danielle’s house.
There was a laptop computer on the dining room table, and Mark went to it and opened it and got on the Internet and began to search for information on Julianne Grossman. He found no criminal or civil charges, but Garrison County and Orange County did not strike him as places where local records would be picked up by the major search databases. Small towns required local searches, even in the computer age. In general searches, all he found was that she had a website advertising her services and that her professed specialties were just as she’d claimed: help with addiction, anxiety, confidence building. She identified a number of hypnotherapy certifications that meant nothing to Mark but neglected to add any formal educational history. She appeared to be a local girl who’d gotten very interested in hypnosis very early. As an agent for positive change, I will help you rewire your brain to transform! she promised on the site.
He ran searches for the Erickson handshake induction she had referenced. He watched half a dozen videos of people supposedly put into immediate hypnosis with a few slight hand movements, and he said “Bullshit” under his breath. You’ll see some obvious frauds, and some things that once would have made you laugh, she had told him. But now? Now you won’t laugh.
She was right about that much. He wasn’t laughing.
“Make yourself at home,” a voice from behind him said, and he turned to see Danielle standing in the kitchen.
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